the end of the world

Trump Fluff

Nothing has meaning.

Because nothing has meaning, America’s favorite winking Tourettes’ sufferer Sarah Palin interviewed America’s favorite decomposing pumpkin Donald Trump.

It was an interviewing tour de force. Palin used words in an order that somewhat resembled sentences to fluff Trump’s presidential scepter, and Trump continued to resemble an orange-hued blobfish.

As expected, the interview made our inevitable decline more inevitable America great again.

So you don’t have to watch it and shave years off your life like I have, I condensed it to the highlights.

truthfairy

trumsharts

horriblepersoncontest

babymeat

palinpebble

playdohpenis

wrapup

trumpsteakds

I don’t know about you, but I am suffering from Trump Fatigue™. I would really like to not write anymore about him so America, if you could stop considering him as a real presidential candidate as opposed to a deflated nut sack, I would appreciate it.

Fifty Shades of Bastardarized Boredom

My prayers have been answered.

Remember when I finished Fifty Sharts of Grey Goop and I declared “Holy twat-twizzler! Will someone please–pretty please with a butt plug on top–write some more words about an abusive douche and an empty space who murmurly sticks things in each other’s holes?”

Well Chrisward and Bellana are back! This time in the incarnation of Bennett Ryan and Chloe Mills. He’s a vampire billionaire media executive with a marbled sparkling body and flashing topaz grey hazel eyes. She’s the pfftt sound that comes from a whoopie cushion expelling actual gas.

And they bang. Their genitals. Into each other.

The book is called Beautiful Bastard.

That is a good title. And by good, I mean beat me in the face with a wire brush.

Two women are to blame for this current celebration of an abusive dickface. Remember how in the Declaration of Sentiments, Lucretia Mott had wanted to write:

Resolved, That woman should become wet and horny from being infantilized and humilated by a gorgeous rumproast man.

And Elizabeth Cady Stanton was all like “Bitch, please. That goes against the very nature of women rights.”

And Lucretia Mott was all like “Just you wait Lizzie. Women are gonna be down with this shit because the world is fucking ending.”

Lucy was right.

So I slogged through the first chapter.

Here’s the thing: My gall bladder has stopped working.

I blame Fifty Fart Nuggets. It turned my entire body into one giant vat of bile, and my little ol’ gall bladder couldn’t take it and has decided to secede from the sinking ship (I know I’m mixing metaphors, but I just fucking read chapter one of Beautiful Bastard).

So Benchrisward is a beautiful man, but has the personality of Newt Gingrich on his period. Chloebellana is his toiling intern who is not physically described. There is a lot of clenching jaws and stomach muscles. There’s wetness monitoring. There are flashing eyes and murmuring bungholes.

Then they boink in the conference room because…spahettios have meatballs, I honestly have no idea.

You can torture yourself here.

I checked on Amazon and it looks like the sequel is coming out in a few months. I’m sure it will be wonderful.

Lucretia Mott would be so proud.